


Stranger, Darker

by kali_asleep



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark, F/M, Implied Feelings, Mentions of Violence, Older Dipper Pines, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Reverse Dipper Pines, Reverse Mabel Pines, Reverse Pacifica Northwest, Reverse Pines, Reverse!Pines AU, Slow Burn, getting there, older Twins, probably eventually romance drabbles, teen Dipper Pines, teen Mabel, teen Pacifica
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/pseuds/kali_asleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Reverse!Pines AU drabbles featuring Dipper Pines x Pacifica Northwest. Cross-posted from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for reading! These are primarily the short ficlet/vignettes/drabbles I posted over at my tumblr inspired by the Reverse Pines AU (currently one of my favorites) and my love of Dippica/Pacidip/Dipifica whatever the pairing might be. These will range in age and content - some with the characters being younger, others featuring them as older teens. Ratings and warnings might change if necessary. 
> 
> Currently most of the Pacifica x Dipper is implied or developing, but as I continue to establish my headcanons about these things, I'm sure things will change. Also, apologies in advance for any spelling/grammar/formatting issues - I will take care of them as I see them!
> 
> Please feel free to come say hi over at my tumblr! brettanomycroft.tumblr.com 
> 
> (Also I don't own Gravity Falls and I pay for the right to write these in tears and firstborns kthx)

“Dipper, they’re back.”

He pauses to look up at his twin, then finishes pulling on his glove with a deft tug.

“Who?” He keeps his voice cool, casual, like he doesn’t already know the answer, but Mabel has always been able to read his mind, even if she didn’t really have telepathy.

“Pigboy and Blondie,” she says with a sneer. Mabel lets the edge of the curtain fall back into place and turns to smile at him, all teeth. 

Dipper doesn’t respond immediately, opting instead to spend a slow minute donning his other glove and picking an invisible piece of lint off of his jacket. He pats at his hair and straightens his bolo tie, adjusts his belt buckle, and relishes how the waves of restless frustration radiate from his sister with each passing second. When he finally looks back up to her, she’s pursing her lips and reaching for the gem - already starting to glow - fastened just above her temple. Rest assured Dipper is the only one who ever makes Mabel wait. 

“So this makes, what, the third, fourth night this week?”

“Like you’re not keeping count,” Mabel snaps. “You’ve messed something up every time she’s shown up, and frankly, if you’re going to ruin my performance again tonight, you may as well sit this one out, brother dearest.”

Rolling his eyes, he places his hands on his hips, steeling himself for yet another round of pre-show histrionics. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that singing the part you wrote for me constituted me ruining your performance. If you’re so worried about me stealing your limelight then go suck a lemon or something!”

“Ugh, you are such an idiot sometimes!” she exclaims, balling his hands into fists. “Let’s just remember that you’re the sidekick in this show, Dipper.”

“You won’t be saying that once I complete the weapon and become overlord of all existence!”

Now both of them are reaching to the turquoise stones-turned-accessories, preparing to completely obliterate the Tent of Telepathy regardless of the gathering crowd taking their seats just beyond the curtain.

“You and that stupid journal, dragging me all the way out to stupid Gravity Falls-”

“I think she’s got the other one, Mabel.”

Mabel freezes, fingertips resting lightly on the stretch of blue-green ribbon just below her telekinesis stone. Dipper’s still gripping the leather strips just below his; neither of them ready to draw, neither of them ready to holster.

“That’s why I’ve been watching her so closely.”

“Really?”

Dipper nods forcefully, because it’s true, or true enough, and because the last thing he needs is Mabel teasing him, or worse.

She lowers her hand and, without warning, yell, “Stan!”

The old man shuffles from some deeper part of backstage, looking harassed.

“Whaddya want? You kids expect me to put on this show with your interruptions?”

Both twins frown, and Stan’s eyes widen. 

“Watch it-” Dipper starts, venom in his voice, but Mabel cuts him off, asking, “Who are those two kids in the front row?”

Stan walks over to the curtain, eyes never completely leaving the twins, back never quite turning. He glances through the gap.

“Oh,” he says, shrugging a little. “Them. That’s the Northwest girl, Pacifica, around your age, maybe older. Preston Northwest ships her off to some fancy school back east for most of the year, but when she gets back for summer she and the boy are inseparable. The little one’s Gideon Gleeful. Cousins, through their mothers, been living in Gravity Falls for years.”

“Gleeful…” Dipper muses, “Why do I know that name?”

Their great-uncle laughs, an ugly sound. “Bud Gleeful runs that scam of a Mystery Shack on the outskirts. Mess of a place.”

“Like we’re any less of a scam, Stan,” Mabel says, but she’s smirking. 

“Yeah, well, we may be a scam,” Stan says, “But we’re a good one, and I’m sick of Gleeful’s pathetic attempts at competition.”

“Maybe we can help with that,” Dipper says.

“Yeah, maybe we can help with that,” Mabel mimics, voice obnoxiously nasal. She crosses her eyes and pulls a face. Dipper puts a hand to his bolo tie and Mabel’s hair erupts into a mass of writhing strands before falling limply over her face. She sputters and flips her hair back over, face red, but says no more.

“Whatever you kids got planned, be careful with it. The little one’s got maybe half a braincell between his ears, but girl’s sharp. Total weirdo, but sharp.”

“Us? Careful?” Dipper snorts. “We’re too good to be careful… and besides, I’ve got a hunch that she knows something about the journals.”

Stan glances at his watch, glances at Dipper, and very clearly refrains from saying something that he would indubitably end up regretting.

“Save it for after the show. You two are on in 30.”

And like that, Mabel snaps into a grin, throwing her shoulders back. She runs her hands once down her leotard then taps her head band once. 

“Finally, back to something interesting,” she says. 

With a sigh, Stan ushers them away with a gesture and sinks back into the shadows. They take their places directly behind the curtain and the music starts up. 

“Mabel?” Dipper hisses.

“What?” she spits, under her breath. 

“After this, let’s pay the Mystery Shack a visit.”

“What, so you can drool over blondie and her gross, tacky sweaters?”

“No! To introduce ourselves and maybe… incentivize the passing on of some information on the journal.”

Mabel turns to him - the curtains beginning their dramatic parting - and her teeth glint in the growing light. 

“Sounds like fun. I wanna make Pigboy squeal,” she says.

The lights go up, the music swells, and the show begins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica and Dipper come back from their first monster hunt, which may or may not have been a date. Pacifica is reticent, and Gideon is suspicious, to say the least. 
> 
> In the same universe/timeline/time frame as the previous drabble. Mirrors the events of "The Hand that rocks the Mabel".

"I had a wonderful night, Pacifica," he says, voice dipping as low as she imagines is possible for the budding 12-year-old. 

"Me too!" she exclaims, swinging her arms back and forth excitedly. "I can't believe you wanted to go check out all of those unusual places in the forest - no one *ever* wants to go investigate the weird stuff around Gravity Falls with me."

"Well that's because you're a big ol' nerd!" Gideon yells from the other room. 

Pacifica turns in the direction of his voice, unable to hide the rising blush. 

"Shut it, twerp!" she shouts back. 

The look she catches on Dipper's face - something dark, angry - when she turns around flashes so quickly she's almost able to convince herself she didn't see it. She's about to say something when she realizes that he's leaned in past the threshold of the Shack, propping himself up on the doorframe with one arm. His face is suddenly much closer to hers. 

"I'd love to do it again sometime," he says, lips quirking up on one side. 

"Absolutely, so would I!"

A full-fledged grin electrifies his face. He stands up straight and stretches out his arms. 

"Tomorrow then! It's a date!"

Pacifica blinks, reeling for a moment. 

"Oh, yeah, sure, tomorrow works. Tomorrow certainly is a Tuesday... Which is a date in June all right."

"Why don't we make it like a... date date?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows. "Maybe get dinner afterwards?"

Before she can help it she blanches, and barely keeps herself from recoiling. She grips the doorknob in her hand so hard it makes her fingers ache.

"Ha ha, you are *so* funny!" she says, voice squeaking uncomfortably. "See you when we *hang out* tomorrow, *friend*!"

The door is swinging shut in Dipper's face before he can sputter out a response; it closes with a loud slam, and Pacifica leans heavily against it. Her hands pull at the bottom of her sweater, twisting nervously. Boy, she was in trouble.

"Paz's got a boyfriend! Paz's got a boyfriend!"

Gideon charges from the living room with timing too inconvenient to be coincidental - he spins and dances around Pacifica madly, chanting. 

"Paz's got a boyfriend! Pacifica and Dipper, in a tree, k-i-s-s-"

"Ugh, ew, Gideon, stop! We're *friends*"

Signing, she trudges into the living room, followed by a still dancing Gideon. He's making little 'ha-cha-cha' sounds under his breath in between his teasing, and Pacifica can't help but smile a little at her cousin's antics. 

"It's a good thing you're cute, kid, otherwise I'd pulverize you."

She drops onto the couch, and Gideon sits down next to her, only to immediately start rearranging himself until he's hanging headfirst off the edge of the cushion, curly white hair nearly touching the floor. 

"You wouldn't hurt *widdle ol' me*" he chirps, kicking his legs up in the air and nearly whacking her in the face.

"Yeah, yeah," she concedes, "But it doesn't stop me from contemplating it every waking moment."

“So when’s the weddin’?”

Pacifica grabs one of Gideon’s flailing ankles and pushes. He falls in slow motion, legs pumping wildly, and lands on his stomach with a soft ‘whump’. 

“Hey!” he protests, but he does nothing to get back on the couch, instead opting to roll back and forth on the floor, twisting his head to maintain eye contact with her. 

“Don’t joke about that kinda stuff, Gideon,” Pacifica says. “Dipper and I are just friends, really, and that’s all we’re going to be. I think of him more like the brother I never had.”

“Oh, so little Gideon over here’s just what, a can ‘a beans?”

Despite his words there’s no hurt in his face; Gideon knows better than anyone else where the two of them stand - best friends from the day he was born until the day they die. Pacifica doesn’t even bother responding, letting her affectionate eye roll say it all.

“But seriously, Dipper Pines and I are not dating-”

“That’s what you think-”

“No, we’re *definitely* not! I don’t even *want* to date right now, there’s too much in Gravity Falls to learn, especially now that I’ve got the journal thrown into the mix.”

“Think whatever you want, Pacifica, but that’s not how boys work,” Gideon stops rolling, and props his chin up in his hands to stare at her, suddenly very serious. “He’s gonna fall in love without askin’ if it’s okay, and things are gonna get real nasty when you set him straight. He doesn’t seem like the lettin’ down gentle type.”

“Whatever,” she says looking away from her cousin. “It’s not like that and it never will be. We’re just two kids interested in the crazy stuff going on around this town. It’s nice to finally have *someone* who appreciates me and my interests. Besides, you’re like five, what do you know?”

The distraction works: Gideon leaps to his feet, draws himself to his full four feet, and jabs a thumb into his chest. 

“As a very popular *fifth grader*, I happen to know plenty about the machinations of romance!” he protests. His neck and face goes red, and he swings his little arms around. Pacifica can’t help but chuckle, the nervous knot in her stomach loosening a little.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll have you know that many in my grade look up to me as an esteemed innovator in interpreting the signs of love and affection. Why, just before the start of Summer break, I successfully matched two classmates whose lonely hearts had been silently calling to one another…”

“Jeez, I said I’m sorry!” Pacifica says, still laughing. She reaches out and puts both arms around the boy, dragging him into an affectionate hug. 

“Well, love guru, you may be a miracle worker for your fellow nine-year-olds, but trust me, there is nothing going on between Dipper and I - nor will there be.”

Gideon struggles against her grip for a few seconds before conceding defeat and hugging her back. She’s startled when he does, for he holds her tightly, almost urgently, clearly concerned. 

“Just be careful, Paz,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Just be careful.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Older reverse Pines, though admittedly a remix type of thing from the first chapter. Dipper is a late 15, Pacifica is an early 16, and Mabel is probably an immortal hellbeast.

He couldn't keep his eyes off of her.

It wasn't like she was particularly beautiful - alright, that was a lie, she *was* beautiful, but in that awful sort of way, in the way that a moth dying on a naked lightbulb was beautiful, in the way that watching blood rise up from a welt was entrancing.  
  
He couldn't decide what was more disgustingly wonderful about her: the dark circles under her eyes; the greasy frizz of her blonde hair, pulled into a sloppy ponytail and tucked under what looked like a trucker's cap; or the garish colors and patterns of the childishly overgrown sweaters she wore despite being - what? - fifteen? Sixteen?

Or perhaps it was the way she completely ignored him for the entire show. From the moment the curtain rose and he saw her there in the front row, to the final seconds of the grand finale, she'd been been hunched over some kind of book or journal, squinting in the dim light and scribbling down notes in it. 

She was a vast contrast to the younger boy sitting smushed up against her in the pews, the younger boy whose attention had never once drifted from Mabel, who had sung along and danced and cheered at every cue, and who clutched one of the little stuffed Mabel idols Stan sold outside the tent before and after each show. Fair haired and piggish, it was clear from the way he clutched at the girls arm and shook it impatiently, as well as from the way she absentmindedly waved him off, that they were related somehow. Something Dipper could use?

The longer Dipper noticed her, and her inattention, the more he couldn't help embellishing the already wildly unreal performance he and his sister put on. When he spoke he made sure his voice boomed and each feat of telekinesis became bigger, better. The audience had never clapped so loudly for him, nearly as vigorously as they had for Mabel.

And Mabel noticed, and Dipper noticed she noticed. They were twins, after all. Her wide show smile soured around the edges, her dark, flawless brows furrowed minutely. He was in for it after the show, and didn't care, not even a bit.

But she still wasn't looking at him, and they had nearly reached the end of the closing number. Mabel belted out her final song ('You can try, but don't keep anything from me / you don't know how deeply love, how deeply I can see') while Dipper juggled fire without ever it ever touching, and every member of the audience except for *her* was rapt. Except for her.

He tossed the first orbs up and clutched at the gem strung to his bolo tie, directing the fire to arch above him and hover, flickering bright. Mabel hadn't noticed yet, too caught up in her own performance, but that wouldn't last long. He had to act - she *had* to look at him. 

During one of the breaks between Mabel's chorus and verse and, to his defense, in perfect rhythm with the music, Dipper tightened his grip on his bolo tie and shouted.

"Everybody rise up now!" 

The power surged beneath his fingers, and every single member of the audience stood, against their will but never realizing it. 

The audience cheered and whooped and clapped, thrilled, but Dipper was watching her. She'd stood too - couldn't have stopped it if she tried - and the journal in her lap had spilled onto the floor. 

He saw her lips moving, muttering to herself under her breath, something like "What the...?"

And then she looked up. Met his eyes. Her face was the picture of confusion, eyes narrowed, pink lips pursed, and yeah, he was right, she was beautiful. Bright blue irises were surrounded by bloodshot white - she clearly didn't get enough sleep, and suddenly, more than anything, Dipper wanted, no, needed, to know every frame of her nightmares. 

Mabel was glaring at him, hard, through the final notes of her song, Mabel was livid and he didn't care because finally she was looking at him. He threw his arms wide, palms outstretched, and she plopped back into her seat unexpectedly, looking startled to realize she hadn't been holding herself up. She stared at him, all confusion and wonder, and against all sense and reason, against the hateful heat Mabel was sending his way, Dipper smiled wide and winked at the girl in the audience. Her cheeks were suffused with blood, a blush that highlighted all of her features, and Dipper felt a thrill of something headier than power race through him.

He and Mabel took their bows, and as he rose back up, she was still looking at him from the audience. Good. 

...

"What was *that* all about?!?" Mabel hissed as soon as the curtains closed. 

It was hard to hear her over the roar of the audience, still cheering for them, but Dipper had known it was coming anyway.

"It was nothing, Mabel, just thought I'd add some flair to the performance."

"There was already *plenty* of flair in the show without your add-ons, Dipper," she said, stalking towards him. Her face was fiery red and she grit her teeth as she spoke. He shrugged in response, knowing it would only set her off more.

"If you weren't my brother, I'd kill you!"

Dipper stepped forward into the small stripe of light from the break in the curtains, and rolled his eyes, making sure Mabel could see him.

"And we all rue the day you decide that ceases to be a factor, sister dearest."

In perfect unison they both reached for their gems, and in perfect unison, they both stopped. Dipper chuckled lightly, and some of Mabel's anger deflated, though he knew there was a long way to go before she'd be calm.

"Just don't let it happen again," she huffed, and she pushed past him to her dressing room deeper backstage.

...

The ride home from the Tent of Telepathy was hardly pleasant, but Dipper hardly minded. 

Mabel had opted not to practice driving home - they were still on their learner's, after all - instead forcing herself into the front passenger's seat and making Stan drive so that she could poke repeatedly at a stuffed Dipper toy with a needle. For the entire trip.

He jolted slightly as the small, vicious pricks pierced his skin.

"That's a waste of good merchandise!" he complained from the back seat, but Mabel simply sniffed and jabbed the doll even harder. 

Dipper bit down hard on his lip, but said nothing more. Mabel would work through her strop soon enough. 

He gazed out the car's window to the dark, winding streets. Before he could help it, his thoughts drifted back to the girl in the audience. She'd be back to the Tent, if not tomorrow night, then sometime soon. She had to come back. 

Dipper tapped gently against the glass. He wondered if, somewhere across Gravity Falls, too far from where he was now, she was thinking about him. If she wasn't now, she would be soon. Dipper would make sure of it.


	4. Small Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper pays Pacifica an unexpected visit back east. Pacifica is thrilled to see her long-distance boyfriend/part-time archenemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for continuing to read these little snippets. 
> 
> A few notes...
> 
> -Pacifica and Dipper are around 17ish here (my headcanon = Pacifica is at least a few months older)  
> -Headcanon the Northwest's send Pacifica to some fancy boarding school on the east coast during the school year  
> -Established-ish relationship  
> -Warnings: some mild sexual themes/innuendo!  
> -Pacifica doesn't see Dipper as any kind of threat (she's way too badass for that). Mabel on the other hand...

"Pacifica!" 

She hummed softly, unable to hear even her own voice over the music pulsing from her headphones. She doubted she was being quiet enough for the library, but she also doubted there were any other occupants. Exams were over, after all.

"Pacifica!"

Leaning over the journal, she circled a symbol she'd noticed repeated a few pages back. She jotted a few notes down next to it: _poss. cxn gnomes?!?_

"Pacifica!"

The headphones were suddenly yanked off of her head; Pacifica jolted and looked up.

"About time you heard me, nerd queen."

The girl who stood over her, headphones in hand, fixed Pacifica with a nasty glare. 

"What do you want, Aubria?" Pacifica sighed. She rubbed her temples in frustration, but the look on Aubria's face was worth it - Pacifica had never dared to talk that way to the self-designated most popular girl in the school. For better or for worse, Aubria had picked the worst possible time - at the height of Pacifica's frustrations over the journal and only days after she'd learned a new summoning - to approach her.

Most of the girls at the school had, over the years, acclimated to Pacifica's eccentricities - she was mostly harmless unless one considered the irreparable harm that might be done to their standing by insulting the only heir the the biggest West Coast fortune. The Northwest name protected her from most, but Aubria seemed a special case, enrolled at the boarding school a year prior, ostensibly to make the rest of Pacifica's high school years the closest thing possible to a living hell. 

"I can say it more slowly," Pacifica snapped, "What. Do. You. Want?"

"There's some weirdo out at the gates asking for you," she said as she tossed Pacifica's headphones onto the table, "Says he won't go until he sees you."

Pacifica shot up from the table. 

"He?"

Aubria raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. 

"Yeah, you heard me."

"Was he armed? Did he look armed? Was there a girl with him?"

"The fu- no!" Aubria exclaimed, but Pacifica had already tuned her out, frantically shoving all of the books, pens, sticky notes, and paper scraps into her backpack.

"Go away," Pacifica said, still packing her bag, "Uh, thanks or whatever, I'll go-"

Her hand hovered over the journal, crudely overlapping with the six-fingered sigil printed on the front. 

"And miss the best story all week? Weird and weirder, together at last-"

Pacifica's head jerked up, and she stared at Aubria, hard. 

"Go. Away."

Whether it was the look on her face, the note in her voice, or something else entirely, Aubria turned and fled, a faint 'psycho bitch' muttered under her breath the only sound that carried back to Pacifica.

Pacifica glanced over her surroundings, weighing the merits of each table and shelf. She didn't have much time, especially if he found a way in - persuasion and coercion in equal measure _were_ two of his specialties. After a moment, she picked up the journal and crossed over to the furthest shelf on her side of the library. With minimal work she was able to bury the book between a few aging copies of bound court case records - maybe something she'd look at if she had some time over break-

She shook her head, scolding herself. Focus. This could be important.

Slinging her backpack over one shoulder, Pacifica exited the library. Her patent leather shoes - school regulation - clicked on the hardwood, echoed out, and were soon joined by another set of footsteps. She tensed, mentally cursed herself for giving such a clear sign of her attention, and then took a deep breath, relaxing. The footsteps were light, and Pacifica realized belatedly that it was likely just Aubria, following her outside to watch the "best story" unfold. Pacifica didn't look back to confirm. 

As she approached the large wooden doors of the school's main entrance, she felt a knot grow in the pit of her stomach. One quick glance at the main office as she passed showed that the receptionist was out for the evening, and at this time of day, most of the rest of the staff were likely on their way to dinner, all the way across campus in the dining room. It would be just her, Aubria, and-

"Pacifica!"

The shout rang out before she was fully through the doors, the voice loud, deep,and familiar enough to make her heart lurch and accelerate. 

She wouldn't run, she just wouldn't-

But she can’t stop herself, and before she knew it she was running, before she knew it she was being wrapped up tightly in a firm embrace, breathless, lost in a nearly incomprehensible back and forth of _"You look amazing - god, I missed you"_ and _"Please tell me that's not a knife"_ and _"It's not, is that your uniform? You're so beautiful I-"_ and _"You really smell nice - is-is- Mabel here?"_ until it all dissolved into a long pause followed by a flood of lips and tongues and hands.

How long passed before they finally resurfaced would forever remain a mystery to her, but when they finally did, it was with all of the slowness, the sweet tenderness, that their forceful union had lacked.

"Hi," she whispered between panting breaths.

"Hi," Dipper said.

She'd already opened her mouth to open the question but, prescient as always, he cut in.

"No, Mabel isn't here, and she doesn't know. And as for if this was planned or a total coincidence... The jury's still out. Oh, and by the way, we decided to take the show to the east coast," he said. He grinned, all teeth. 

“What’s the catch?” she asked, but she was smiling back at him, already running her hands lightly up and down his sides.

“Where’s the Journal?” 

He was starting to lean in closer, and she saw the hunger there, lining his face and curling up into his eyes. 

“Left it with Gideon at the end of summer.”

His hands dropped from her waist and he looked to the heavens with a groan.

“Seriously? This whole time?”

“Mhm. Right in Gravity Falls, right under your nose up to the day you left. Sorry, babe.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” he spat petulantly. “I will have that Journal one day.”

“Uh-huh, sure. And that day, the Apocalypse will beckon and pigs will fly.”

Dipper hummed, looking pensive. “Gideon would look good in wings.”

“Stop it! Don’t be an idiot,” Pacifica exclaimed, chuckling all the same. Dipper laughed along with her for a few moments, then suddenly grew serious. 

"Now, may I kiss you again?"

Pacifica pulled away slightly, immediately noticing how warm she was, and how much her body begged to lean back into his. But protocol was protocol. She took a step back and reached for both hands, flipping them over to show two unmarked wrists. 

"No Bill?" she murmured, running a thumb over the ridges of his veins. She couldn't forget how they'd been marred once before, that triangular brand raised like an old scar.

"Not in almost a year," he whispered, and he leaned in. He flipped his hands over, covering hers and squeezing tightly. Pacifica let him pull her in briefly, almost allowed another kiss, but instead gently tugged her hands away. She knelt down, almost to her knees, and wrapped her hands around his ankles. She patted up each leg, checking his pockets back to front. Dipper took in a sharp hiss of breath as she did, and she swatted at his leg even as a blush rose on her face. 

"Just hold on," she said, rising to sweep her hands over his chest and back.

"I already said no knife," Dipper whined.

"And no Mabel?"

"No Mabel," he confirmed. 

"Because the last time you visited unexpectedly-"

"It was hardly unexpected! But there was no way I was going to show up to the Northwest mansion without some kind of defense, and I didn't know Mab-"

She cut him off with a hard kiss, as satisfied as she'd ever be with her safety around her boyfriend and part-time archenemy, Dipper Pines. He moaned into her mouth and fixed his hands on her back, drawing her against him. 

Heat flushed across her skin as Dipper dragged his lips away from hers and down her neck. 

"We've got company," he whispered, and she stiffened, ready to push away from him.

"Not Mabel," he said, rubbing his hands lightly over her back. "Turns out most all-girls' schools have a brother all-boys' school nearby. The Hellhound needed to enlarge her pack, she's not around. It's the same girl that I saw earlier."

Pacifica turned slightly, looking behind her even as Dipper's lips returned to her pulse point. At the school's gate Aubria stood, eyes wide, jaw dropped, watching them.

"Aubria,” Pacifica said, and she must not have been able to contain the venom in her voice, as Dipper chuckled immediately afterwards.

“She must be a piece of work,” he replied. “She was trying to exercise her feminine wiles on me before I demanded that she go get you. Really, like flirtation would get her anywhere when I have you.”

Despite herself Pacifica smiled and lowered her head in an attempt to coax Dipper’s lips back up to hers. Instead, Dipper straightened and moved away, fixing his eyes at a point just beyond her head. One hand slid up to the gem topping his ever-present bolo tie; Pacifica turned just in time to watch the heavy iron gates slam together inches from Aubria’s face. Aubria let out a shriek and screamed some kind of obscenity before running back into the school.

“You-you know she’s g-going to talk, Dipper,” Pacifica said between fits of laughter. Dipper grinned toothily and wrapped an arm back around her waist.

“Let her talk,” he said, “Let all of them talk.”

Though he’d pulled her close to him once more, he leaned back. Dark eyes dragged lazily over her form, and Dipper’s grin became something harder, more feral.

“Is this your school uniform?”

Pacifica blushed, suddenly conscious of the tight pull of her regulation white blouse and the inches of bare leg under the hem of the skirt she’d bought freshman year and been too lazy to replace, even after the following growth spurts.

“Yeah. It’s miserably uncomfortable, not to mention way sexist.”

“I dunno, I kind of like it. You almost look like you could be on the stage, with us.”

Dipper’s hands strayed lower from her waist, down her hips, along the curve of her ass. His fingers tightened, rucking up the already short skirt, and he pulled her to him until their hips met. Pacifica let out a soft gasp, and she felt the blush creep up her neck. 

“Don’t get used to it, Pines,” she muttered. She leaned into him and let her lips hover near his. “Come this summer, it’s all oversized sweaters and trucker hats, like it or not.”

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and bit hard. With a shiver of pleasure she licked and kissed back. Dipper let go of her lip and deepened the kiss. 

What seemed like years later, they parted with panting breath. 

“I like the sweaters and hats,” Dipper said between heavy breaths. “Though admittedly, it doesn’t matter to me at all what you wear, as long as I get to take it off afterwards.”

Pacifica flushed again, and smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

“Behave. I am still on school grounds, after all. Rules to uphold and all.”

Dipper wrinkled his nose, and she saw the tell-tale signs (twitching fingers, a half-clenching fist) of a boy just itching to reach for his telekinetic bolo tie. 

“I could just… you know… burn it all to the ground. Then you’d be free to run away with me and live out your days as a travelling psychic’s assistant.”

Rolling her eyes, Pacifica ducked in for another kiss, and took both of his hands in hers. 

“You sure know how what to say to a girl to make her swoon,” she said, rolling her eyes. “A real ladies’ man, you are. I’d rather spend my time running for my life, doing everything in my power to keep the Journal out of your little Doomsday scheming hands.”

Dipper raised said hands to cover his heart.

“Me? Scheming? You? Having to run for your life?” he said dramatically, looking wounded. “I would never endanger you! Besides, I’ve already caught you.”

His arms snaked around her, closing the distance between them once more. 

“See?”

“Yeah, yeah, you got me, creep.”

She turned a little in his arms and rested her back against his chest. For a few minutes, they simply stood, silently, gazing out over the boarding school as it grew darker in the fading daylight. Occasionally, Dipper would drop a light kiss along her neck, or bury his face in her hair, and she would sigh contentedly. It was, Pacifica reflected, almost sweet. Almost normal.

That is, until Dipper broke the moment by suddenly stiffening and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“You were lying to me.”

“Hm?”

“About the Journal. You totally lied!” he exclaimed, voice cracking slightly as he did.

Pacifica struggled to keep a straight face, but eventually she lost herself to a fit of giggles. She doubled over, laughing, as Dipper muttered darkly. 

“What gave it away?” she asked once she had resumed some semblance of composure.

“Well, I just realized is all, using my keen powers of deduction, that you would never leave something in Gravity Falls if you thought it might give _you_ the opportunity to see _me_.” 

He waggled his eyebrows, pointing to himself as he did.

“You are such a narcissist!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, but you’re not denying it.”

“Well too bad for you, you’ll never get it,” Pacifica said with a sniff. Dipper made a face, but she could tell he wasn’t really up to fighting for it - while she couldn’t read Dipper the way his twin could, Pacifica managed a decent job after all these years. His attention was otherwise occupied, and Pacifica was happy to be said occupying force.

“Fine. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to take something else instead.” 

He grinned at her, devilish, and brought his lips back to her neck. With a sigh, she shook her head, and arched her head back to accommodate.

“I guess you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!
> 
> Feel free to check out my tumblr for fic snippets and dumb Bill doodles: brettanomycroft.tumblr.com
> 
> :D


	5. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper messes around with things he shouldn't. Pacifica does not approve in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a "drabble" on tumblr for Aquaburst07... Unfortunately I'm terrible at writing short drabble-y things so instead, 1000+ words of angst! Dipper and Pacifica are around 17 here, and, well Dipper is a terrible person. 
> 
> The prompt was "I almost lost you".

“Oh, oh no, oh no, please work, please tell me this worked-”

Pain splits his head in two like lightning to a tree; being awake comes to him as a shock.

“Why in the world would you-?”

The voice - frantic, feminine - makes him jolt. His eyes open to blue and gold.

“What are you doing here?” he rasps. There are other questions he wants to ask, like ‘Why is my throat hoarse?’ and ‘Why are your eyes bloodshot?’, but he trades answers for her arms thrown over him.

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Pacifica breathes into his neck. It’s warm, and tickles. Normally he would twitch away from the feeling, but he indulges in her touch. Rare as it is that she’d so openly display affection, he doesn’t pry further, lest she pull away.

“You’re okay,” she says again.

Breaths become kisses from his neck to his lips, fast and hard and utterly unlike her.

Dipper sits up and slides his arms around her. Her skin warms his bare shoulders - he’s cold, as it turns out, undiscovered goosebumps soothed away as her hands slide from back, to shoulders, to arms, to hands and back again.

He’s not wearing a shirt.

“Where is my shirt?” which leads to an icy shot of panic that rushes from gut outwards. “Pacifica, where’s my bolo tie?”

“Really?” Pacifica asks, but it lacks the snark her rhetoricals are always delivered in.

“Where is my bolo tie?” he repeats, leaning back to look her in the face.

All at once, several abnormalities come to his attention:

He is in her bedroom, a place he’s never been unaccompanied, particularly not at night.

It is night, but the last time he checked, it had only been around 4 in the afternoon.

There is blood _everywhere_. His hands, her brow, his pants, and all over her sheets.

His bolo tie is gone.

Dipper pushes Pacifica away and jumps off of the bed, scanning.

“Where is it, Pacifica?” he snarls, stalking over to her desk and eyeing it.

“And come to think of it, where’s my journal?”

She laughs.

He whips around, glaring, to see her hiding her face in her hands - also covered in blood.

“You seriously don’t quit, do you?” Pacifica says. Her voice is strained.

Dipper’s hands clench into fists as he crosses back to the bed. The scowl folds across his face.

“Pacifica, sweetest, light of my li-”

“Oh don’t you even _start_ ,” she spits, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

“Do I look like I care? Give me back my journal!”

Pacifica pushes herself off of her bed and steps up to him. Everything about her is an utter wreck, from the dried blood streaking her forehead to the dark bruise forming along her jaw. She glares.

“I _loathe_ you,” she says.

Dipper raises an eyebrow, then spins on a heel to resume his search of her room. As he moves from her desk to her drawers, upending everything in sight, she follows behind him. A chill seems to bite at his back.

“This isn’t funny,” he grunts as he pulls one of her drawers out of the dresser and dumps her sweaters out. No journal, no gem.

“You don’t even care, do you?”

“Probably not,” Dipper replies, starting on the second drawer.

“You probably don’t even remember what happened.”

Another stack of sweaters spills onto the floor.

“I remember once having a very important bolo tie.”

“I remember when you weren’t such an ass,” Pacifica says, and before he can interject, adds, “Wait, no I don’t.”

She keeps a few steps behind him, watching as he destroys her room. Not once does she bend down to pick anything up.

“Look, darling,” he says, turning now to her bookshelves, “I know we have this playful little ‘archenemy’ affair going on here, but I’d like to remind you that it’s actually infuriating when you keep me from my things.”

“You wake up in my room, covered in blood, hours after the last thing you remember, and the thing you’re most concerned about are your accessories?”

It is, without a doubt, absolutely not the sob in her voice that gives him pause the moment before he’d planned on sweeping every book off of her bookshelf. It is most certainly not the wavering of her words that draws his hand away. It is simply that, in that very moment, he spots a familiar red, leather-bound journal.

From where he stands he can’t tell if the open journal is hers, or his. He does, however, recognize the creature sketched onto the page.

“Leave it,” she says, voice low.

Which of course means that he will not. Crossing over and picking it up from her nightstand reveals an unfamiliar page - it’s her journal. All over the open pages, scrawled red ink proclaims “CAN’T BE TRUSTED” and “DO NOT SUMMON AT ALL COSTS”.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” he says.

There’s an unusual wrenching feeling in the space just below his lungs. He frowns and flips through the pages, avoiding her gaze.

“Sure, except that nothing you ever do is subtle. A showman through and through. And so is he.”

He turns, snapping the book closed.

“So it worked? I summoned him?”

“You did more than that.”

The expression on Pacifica’s face doesn’t make sense. She should be thrilled for him - she’s always thrilled with his achievements, even if her excitement comes with a false pout and a turned cheek. But tonight her forehead is marred by a deep line (accentuated in blood). She touches the bruise - darkening, widening - and scowls.

“But that’s great!” he says anyway, “I did it! I can do it again! Don’t you see, Pacifica? This puts me one step closer to-”

“I almost lost you!”

The shout rings in his ears; the silence pierces the moment after.

Tears roll down her cheeks; even in the dim of the room, he can see the tracks they leave on her skin - a testament to the ferocity of the grime covering her. He drops the book.

“Pac-”

“When I found you, you weren’t you. You were _him_. Whatever happened, however he tricked you or whatever you promised, you weren’t you anymore, Dipper, and I didn’t think- I didn’t think-”

She dissolves into sobs, and shoves him away when he attempts to come close. He stumbles back, but approaches her again. Dipper holds out his arms, an offering that she takes a moment later.

“That _thing_ ,” Pacifica whispers into his chest, “You’re a lot of terrible things, Dipper, but that _thing_ wasn’t you. Wasn’t the Dipper Pines that I love.”

He tighten his grip and buries his face in her hair. The scent of smoke, sweat, and blood nearly makes him retch, but Dipper doesn’t move.

“I love you,” he says, lips brushing up against his ear.

“And I’m sorry.”

Those words are quieter, his least favorite kind of confession.

“I did what I could to exorcise him,” she says, voice tearful, “To get him out. There weren’t very clear directions in the journal, so I had to get creative. He didn’t care for it much.”

He looks down, she looks up. Gently, Dipper runs a finger along the line of her jaw, stopping at the swelling bruise.

“I did this,” he says.

“No. He did it.”

“I did this. It wasn’t- nothing was supposed to-”

Pacifica pulls him into a kiss. It is sweet, and warm, with only a hint of copper, and he understands that nothing has been forgiven. Dipper slowly moves his lips against hers, knowing it is a moment to be savored. Nothing is ever easy when in love with one’s biggest obstacle.

_**Gee, this is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in centuries!** _

He tenses. Pacifica flicks her tongue over his lips; Dipper obliges.

_**You’ve sure muddled this all up, Star. Can’t wait to see how you dig yourself out of this one!** _

Dipper deepens the kiss, doing all he can to ignore the voice bouncing around inside his head. It falls silent. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the Reverse Falls nature of this all, I write assuming that Dipper's symbol on the Bill Wheel would not be Pine Tree, but instead the Star from the Tent of Telepathy.
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr - I post doodles, drabbles, and fic updates! brettanomycroft.tumblr.com :)


	6. Looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer comes again. It's incredible, how much can change in a year of absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a fill for a drabble prompt ask! The prompt was "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."
> 
> Pacifica is around 15, maaaaybe 16 here (it's nebulous), Dipper is a little younger. As a note, most of the drabbles in this collection are non-contiguous - there are similarities in stories, a few things that happen definitively in my headcanon, but many of these drabbles reimagine similar events happening in different ways.

Bad luck comes in to the Mystery Shack on the edge of a flourished cape. 

"Pacificaaaaa!" Gideon shouts.

He heaves himself over the counter, sacrificing ease for effect, and crosses his arms as the Shack's newest visitor pretends to examine the sticker rack. Thirty seconds feels like thirty minutes, but their guest finally turns from the stickers and looks in Gideon's direction. Their faces must mirror one another: raised eyebrows, sharp sneers, disdain.

"You can leave," Dipper says flatly, "I don't need help waiting for your cousin."

"Sorry, Pines," Gideon says with a grit-teeth smile, "Can't leave the shop unattended for a single second. I'll wait."

It does not matter that Dipper Pines rises a whole head and a half above him, or that, at thirteen and lacking any of Pacifica's resources, Gideon could do little to stop any "psychic" tantrum Dipper decided to throw: Gideon stares the boy down (or, technically, up). 

"So now, Dipper, how's it been? Been a while since you darkened our doors. Looks like you got yourself a new wardrobe, very refined. Would you consider that a cape or a cloak? And how did dear, sweet Mabel take it when you rejected the leotard?"

Over the course of Gideon's words, Dipper's face reddens, and he steps in until he's looming over Gideon. One jittery hand raises and tightens on the gem atop Dipper's bolo tie.

"You microscopic _swine_ ," Dipper hisses. 

A single spike of panic races through Gideon's chest, but it fades quickly - Dipper Pines doesn't intimidate him, and the gem at his throat remains dim and placid.

"Irascible swindler," Gideon responds, flashing him a sweet smile, "Two-faced misanthrope. I can come up with these all day. My vocabulary is quite advanced for a seventh grader."

Gideon's not sure if Dipper's preparing to punch him (less likely, the boy's arms are made of noodles) or magically choke him to death (more likely, Mabel’s not the only Pine with violent tendencies), but regardless he is saved by the creak and thud of the wooden doors dividing the shop from their living room. Gideon slides out of Dipper's reach and is hightailing it past his cousin and back through the doors marked "Employees Only" before Pacifica manages to utter a confused "Dipper?".

He walks down the narrow hallway towards the living room until he hears the doors clunk closed, then quietly tiptoes back, positioning himself in the shadows so that he can watch the drama unfold undetected. 

"Good morning, beautiful," Dipper oozes, and Gideon can practically hear Pacifica's eyeroll from across the shop.

"Dipper, what are you doing here?" 

Her voice is low, barely scraping into a whisper. 

"Our monster hunt isn't for another two days, and you know how Uncle Bud - and Gideon - and, well, _everyone_ feels about you being here."

Shifting slightly, Gideon is able to get a view of the counter and both teens. Pacifica leans against the counter, looking warily up at Dipper. Dipper has backed up from where he was towering over Gideon before, letting a few feet separate him from her. His hands have left the bolo tie and found their way into his pockets. He looks different, younger, and it makes Gideon scowl.

"I saw you at the show last night. What did you think?"

"I didn't, I wasnt-" Pacifica stammers, but her blush gives it away, and Gideon has to bite back a groan. So she _hadn't_ gone straight back to the mansion.

"Pacifica, I know every inch of that tent, every shadow. I'm impressed, though, at how well you managed to hide - Mabel didn't notice, and I'll admit I almost missed you..."

"Mabel wouldn't notice a pink elephant in the room unless you'd taught it how to say her name," Pacifica says with a snort, and of all unholy and incredible things, Dipper Pines _laughs_. The sound - perfectly normal, even happy - makes Gideon's skin crawl.

"So what did you think?" Dipper asks, voice softening.

"You missed your third cue by half a second, but otherwise is was fine. The cape's a little silly, though. None of this answers my original question though - what are you doing here?"

Pacifica crosses her arms over her chest, and it's clear she's sizing the boy up. As far as Gideon can tell, his cousin is the only person on earth who has ever managed to silence Dipper Pines for more than ten seconds, and the quiet space that stretches between them draws Gideon's attention to the look in Dipper's face. His eyes look hungry, but he's frowning, as if deliberating. 

The past year of puberty had been kind to Pacifica, and few days passed where Gideon didn't hear someone at the Shack or in town mention how stunningly and appropriately Northwest the leggy blonde teen had become. But Dipper Pines had been infatuated well before Gideon's cousin had left her awkward pre-teen phase, and it was clear now that no amount of rejection from her had changed his feelings. However, Pacifica was not the only of the two to have changed between summers, and it's with sudden panic that Gideon recognizes the tension underlying Pacifica's supposedly casual posture, sees the flush still lining her cheeks.

"I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice," Dipper says. 

Gideon is fairly certain that, were it humanly possible, all of their hearts would have stopped at once. His certainly skips a beat, but the terror rising from his gut is decidedly not the feeling he can see is affecting Pacifica.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, and this time it is a whisper. 

"You nearly fell into a gnome hollow last week. Pacifica, you're too good on those monster hunts for something like that to happen. Unless you're distracted."

The tap of leather dress shoes seems to crack like gunshots through the hush of the Shack. Dipper stands a few inches in front of Pacifica, one hand on the counter behind her, the other still tucked in his pocket, leaving her a space to slip away. She does not move.

"The time before that, you botched a spell I know you've done a thousand times before. Distracted, again. But by what?"

"You're a complete narcissist," Pacifica says faintly.

"True."

"And an utter ass."

"Also true."

"I'm too good for you."

"Mhmm."

"And I've already turned you down one thousand times."

"Are you going to make this one thousand and one, Pacifica?"

Dipper's other hand comes down to rest on the counter. His body frames Pacifica's, pinning her between him and the counter. She doesn't seem bothered.

"How do I look at you, then?" she asks in return. Pacifica tilts her face up to his, flutters her eyelashes.

"Like you can't quite believe that I'm the same boy you've been fighting with and going on monster hunts since you were thirteen," Dipper says, leaning in towards her, "Like everything you know is changing for the better. Hungry. Dreamy. Like you've been wanting to do this for weeks."

Dipper places a hand on her hip. They stare at one another. Pacifica's lips part ever-so-slightly.

"Like maybe, this time, you'll say yes." 

A sliver of space separates them. 

Gideon can no longer hear her words, but he sees her lips move in answer. 

A moment later, Dipper closes the gaps between them and kisses her. The motion is unexpectedly tentative. They kiss, pull apart, and slowly press together again. 

Pulling away from the door, Gideon covers his eyes with his hands. Like watching a bad horror film, he's half-tempted to peek through his fingers, watch the train fall off of the cliff. But in that moment of hesitation he hears a soft gasp from the shop, followed by the louder, wet sounds of deepened kissing. Face heating up, Gideon scurries to his room, leaving the two on their own.


	7. Graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel crashes Pacifica's graduation. Dipper proposes a unique solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A drabble written for Aquaburst07, based on the prompt "Marry me". :3 Also, I did not use a *single* italicized word in this fic hallelujah.

"This way!"

Pacifica grabs Dipper by the wrist and pulls him through the rushing bodies. Elbows slam into her side and hands push at her chest, shoving her out of the way, but her grip on Dipper remains firm. Screams swell up from the crowd, but the noise still does not drown out the shrill laughter that carries across the field. 

They duck behind the bleachers, escaping the fleeing mass of panicked people. Pacifica peers through the slots in the steps, and Dipper comes up behind her.

"Did she see us?" he whispers. His voice shakes.

Pacifica shivers. It isn't often that Dipper is scared. 

"I don't think so. But we can't stay here for long - she's going to keep tearing everything apart until she finds us."

From their hiding spot, Pacifica can see Mabel hovering over the center of the field. Blue fire twists around her. When she laughs, her voice takes on a nasal tone; it echoes, as if coming from two mouths. 

"Come on out, Shooting Star," Mabel calls, "I'm only going to pull out your eyes a little!"

"Why would she do this?" Dipper hisses, talking to himself as much as Pacifica, "She's never made a deal with Bill before!"

"Your sister sure does hate me," Pacifica deadpans. 

A moment later, Mabel's cackle carries across the field. Pacifica turns in time to see a wave of fire burst in all directions; she has just enough time to throw her arms around Dipper's waist and topple him to the ground before the flames hit the bleachers. 

"She could have at least waited until after I walked across the stage," Pacifica grumbles. 

Pacifica pushes herself up and kicks off her high heels. It was a miracle her ankles hadn't buckled as she ran away, as useless as she was at walking in them. Off comes the mortarboard and black gown as well. Dipper stands and pulls off his signature turquoise jacket, dirt-stained and singed. It drops to the ground, abandoned as Dipper pulls her against his chest.

"If you die," he whispers into her ear, "I will raise you from the dead just to kill you again."

"Love you too," she mumbles, but despite everything, she giggles. 

Pacifica begins to pull away, but Dipper holds her tightly in place.

"Dipper, I've got to go. She and Bill aren't going to stop."

His embrace loosens, but he doesn't let go.

"Dipper," she says gently, "Come on."

"Marry me."

Pacifica places his hands on his chest and leans back to look him in the eye. Another blast of fire hits the bleachers - they creak and shake. 

"This really isn't the best time to joke about something like that," she says, eyeing the deep scorch marks on their temporary metal shelter.

"I'm serious, Pacifica."

"Dipper, your twin sister made a deal with a demon to kill me at my own graduation. I've got a lot on my plate right now and-"

He lets go, and drops to one knee. From his pocket, Dipper pulls a thin black box. 

"Pacifica Elise Northwest-"

"You didn't, you planned-?"

He flips the box open, revealing a slender band.

"Will you do me the honor of joining me for the rest of our - likely very short - lives?"

The ring is simple: a platinum band inset with a row of pale turquoise stones.The stones sit flat, unlikely to catch on clothing or get clogged with dirt. Perfect when crawling through the forest hunting monsters. Speechless, all she can do is nod.

Dipper takes her hand in his and slides the ring onto her finger. The band feels cool and and solid on her skin. She recognizes the gems. 

“Do these work?” she asks, peering into the telekinetic stones. 

“Yes, I made sure of it.”

Dipper pulls at the bolo tie around his neck. She sees now that the center of the gem has been cut away and replaced with platinum, an echo of her own ring. 

“You complete me,” Dipper says with a smile. He stands, and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“You know this means you’re stuck with me forever now,” she says, “However long forever might be.”

Mabel’s shouts get louder, and smoke rolls over the field.

“Ready?”

“Always.”


	8. Make Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica and Dipper's monster hunt either goes completely wrong or absolutely as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct follow up to "Looking". I keep messing with the ages because I am the worst and continuity doesn't matter. I think Pacifica might have been 15 or 16 in "Looking" and now I'm saying they're like 17 in this one? I'll go back and fix it, but for now, just pick the age you want them to be (sorry!)
> 
> This started out as a drabble on tumblr to an anonymous request for the prompt "Come and make me!"
> 
> This is not a drabble.

Raindrops shudder from pine needles as Pacifica attempts to find shelter at the base of a tall, slender tree. While the closely packed trees and the brim of her hat keep much of the rain out of her eyes, they do little to keep the fat drops from hitting the open page of her journal and leaving inky trails down the edge.

“A little help here?” Pacifica asks, turning to glare at the boy behind her.

Dipper Pines looks pristine as ever in his black slacks and turquoise vest, untouched by the rain as he is under his telekinetic bubble. One hand loosely clutches the gem at his throat while the other holds open his own journal, the very figure of calculated ease. Dark eyes flick up from his pages to her, and he smirks.

“You made it perfectly clear that you wanted me to keep my distance,” he says, “Have you changed your mind now that you’ve found a use for me again?”

The shiver that ricochets down her spine is decidedly a factor of the rain - not the mix of his low voice and articulated words. Water flings off the brim of her hat as she shakes her hat, a motion perhaps too forceful to make her next words entirely believable.

“No,” she says, “And stop making this about you. What I meant was, a little help finding the location of this cave? I’d like to get out of this rain and take care of this monster before Gideon and Uncle Bud notice I’m gone.”

“Darling, it’s always about me,” Dipper says with a hum, but his eyes nonetheless return to the page he had been studying. Pacifica pulls the muggy air through her nose, able to breathe now that he’d averted his gaze. This, this was going to be a problem.

She pulls her jacket closer around her as she waits for him to finish reading; even the layers of her sweater and rain jacket do little to keep out the cold of the Oregon rain, and the wet trickle that streams from her soaked ponytail down her neck scarcely helps. What she’d do to have a built in magical umbrella like Dipper’s… but she cuts the thought off before her mind strays down that increasingly familiar path. The day is too cold to explain away the flush Pacifica feels edging up her neck, and even in the murky forest light, Dipper would notice. Dipper always seemed to notice.

“If our location is as you said-”

“And it is-”

Dipper sighs, heaving his eyes to the heavens, and continues, “ _If_ our location is as you said, the cave should only be a quarter of a mile to the north.”

“Fine, great, let’s get a move on it, fancy pants,” she says, already turning in the direction he’d indicated.

“My pants aren’t the only thing that’s fancy.”

Pacifica spins on her heel, boots squelching in the mud.

“Eugh! That doesn’t even make sense, Dipper!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, “Are there _any_ other girls on the planet that fall for the stupid nonsense you spout?”

Dipper arches an eyebrow and snaps his journal shut. 

“Plenty,” he says, “But most girls on the planet are much stupider than you.”

Pacifica stomps off with a huff, leaving him to follow behind her. The warm clench that settles just below her ribs is deemed traitorous in the given circumstances, and she pummels it down with logic as she makes her way through the towering trees. No matter _what_ Dipper Pines says or how he many backhanded compliments passes out, she will _not_ fall for his dumb tricks, and no matter _how_ soft his lips were or how _warm_ his body was against hers-

“It should be coming up any minute now,” Dipper calls out.

Moments later, the dark opening of a cave yawns out of the rain and underbrush. She turns to him and points it out. Carefully, they creep to the entrance, Dipper speeding up to close the distance between them. Impossible as it seems under layers of clothing, the skin of her back prickles as he leans in to peer past her and into the cave.

“Nothing seems to be moving around in there,” Pacfica whispers, and Dipper nods.

“Ladies first,” he whispers back. As close as he is, the words warm the shell of her ear, and the snicker that follows her as she toes into the cave reveals that Dipper did not miss her slight shudder.

Pacifia pulls the small flashlight from her back pocket and flips it on to its ‘night’ setting. The rocks and debris of the cave’s entrance cast eerie shadows under the red light, and it takes years of practice for Pacifica to not jump at every dark facet. Her light gets lost in darkness a few yards beyond the cave’s narrow entrance, a sign that the structure widens into a larger space not much further ahead. Before she takes another step forward, she shines her light down along the cave’s floor.

Deep furrows scar the mud-and-rock in front of her, the work of thick claws. They course from the large space ahead of them all the way to the entrance behind them, and Dipper squats down to get a closer look as she guides the light back towards him. He reaches out to touch the churned up earth.

“It’s dry,” he hisses. His voice echoes down to her, amplified, and they both stiffen. Still no movement from deeper in the cave.

“These tracks are at least a few days old,” he continues, “If this thing were still around, it would be slogging in all of the muck from yesterday and today.”

“Do you think…?”

“We won’t know for sure until we check out the entire cave. Let’s go.”

Together, they edge along the rocky walls, stopping as they reach the junction where the cave widened. Pacifica directed the beam of red light first along the floor, and then up to the top, revealing a small cavern. Perhaps ten feet tall and fifteen feet deep, the space was dank but barren. No monster, no sign of a monster for a while.

“Empty,” Pacifica mutters, cursing under her breath.

“We must have missed it,” Dipper says, returning to a normal volume. A few more desperate sweeps of the flashlight confirm what both of them had concluded. 

Pacifica lets out an exasperated grunt and shoves her journal back into the inner pocket of her rain jacket. 

“The thing must have gone into the mountains early for hibernation. Now I’m going to have to wait another year to see this thing!” she exclaims, shouldering past Dipper to get back to the cave’s entrance. “This was all for nothing!”

“Come on, Pacifica,” Dipper says, “It wasn’t all for _nothing_. We got to spend some quality bonding time.” 

Despite his words, Pacifica can hear the frustration - and disappointment - in his voice at not finding the creature. It had taken them two months of research, text messages, and Skype calls over the school year for them to decode the pages on the cave monster in both of their journals, only to miss it by days. From behind her, Pacifica hears Dipper kick at a rock on the ground, no doubt scuffing his shiny black shoes. 

“Yeah, you know that’s my absolute _favorite_ thing to do with you,” she says with a sneer.

There’s a soft exhale from a few feet back. Pacifica groans and slaps a hand to her forehead, but it’s too late.

“Bonding is your _favorite_ thing to do with me?” Dipper asks. He’s stopped walking.

When she glances back over her shoulder, all she can see of him is the dark outline of his head and shoulders and the dim glow of the jewel at his throat. Perhaps the monster _was_ still in the cave.

“Y-you know-” she stammers, but in typical Pines fashion, Dipper’s caught the scent of blood and won’t be deterred.

“Because I was under the impression that your favorite thing to do with me was just a bit more… intimate.”

Pacifica tosses her head, straightens her shoulders, and continues making her way to the mouth of the cave. What happened at the Shack a week ago was a fluke, nothing more, and she’d tell him as much.

“It was _once_ , Dipper,” she says, voice stern. 

“Oh, come on Pacifica, I thought we were past all of that.”

Dipper’s voice is smooth, cool, a showman’s voice, and it caresses her in a way that she’s sure is supernaturally guided. He’s never used his gem on her before - not in a non-violent way, at least - but she’s fairly sure that she’d see his hand raised to his neck if she looked back.

“Cut it out, Pines,” she snaps, flapping a hand next to her ear and waving away the physical tendrils of his gem’s power. 

“You’re no fun,” Dipper whines, but the sensation dissipates. 

“Good,” she grumbles.

Pacifica flicks off the flashlight as they approach the entrance to the cave. The light streaming in from the forest is dim, but enough for her to see, even from a distance, that the rain outside has intensified into a proper storm.

Groaning, Pacifica stops just at the end of the rocky ceiling. The rain pierces through the trees, and it’s impossible to see more than a few feet out. She hears Dipper come to a stop a few feet back. Weighs her options. With a resolute nod, Pacifica pulls the hood of her rain jacket up over her hat and zips the jacket up to her chin. She’s just starting to step out into the storm when she hears Dipper’s annoyed, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously!” she calls over the rumble of the rain.

“Am I really that bad?”

She knows this trick, knows it like the back of her hand, and she’s cursing herself from here to home when she turns back to him.

Dipper’s half-smile gleams, even in the dark. 

“Come on, Pacifica, the rain won’t last that long, and you know we’ll get turned around in minutes if we head out there now.”

“ _You_ might,” she says, but she lowers the hood from her head and retreats further back into the cave. She stops a few feet from where he’s standing, presses her back against the damp cave wall, and slides down until her butt hits the ground. She crosses her arms over her chest and glares up at him.

“Happy?”

“What?” he asks, lips pouting their way into a picture of innocence. 

With a flourish, Dipper pulls off the cape gracing his shoulders and sets it on the ground. He folds himself onto it delicately, leaning against the wall opposite her, then sets his chin on a fist and stares. He looks comfortable, composed, and she hates him for it as the cold seeps in through her jeans.

“I’m always happy when I’m around you,” he says, voice light. Pacifica snorts and shakes her head.

“You just can’t turn it off, can you?” 

“Turn what off?” Dipper asks, though he clearly knows the answer.

“That oozing pile of word vomit you seem to think constitutes charm,” she says. 

Despite the vitriol of her words, Dipper only looks mildly offended; they’ve flung worse at each other over the past three years, and for Pacifica, insults are her guiding light in an otherwise stormy sea. A narrowing strait of safe waters to tread. 

“So, the monster’s gone and the weather’s gone to shit,” he says, “What do you suggest we do now?”

The gaze he levies on her now makes her feel like she’s drowning.

“The same thing we do every time, Dippy,” Pacifica says, preparing every quip she can that might keep her afloat.

“Try to keep me from taking over the world?” he asks dryly. 

“That’s the gist,” Pacifica says, smiling and wrinkling her nose at him. 

He shrugs and heaves a dramatic sigh. “I still don’t understand why you won’t just hand over the journal and _help_ me take over the world.”

“And I still don’t understand how you don’t get the basic concept of me: good, you: bad.”

Dipper sighs again and runs a hand through already slicked-back hair. Pacifica has to look away; she remembers those fingers too well, the way they pulled through her own hair, traced down her neck, slid across her back. She forces her gaze to the cave’s opening, assess the rain, and once again considers the dangers of being trapped for much longer with Dipper Pines. For the first time since the rain started, she’s displeased with how warm she suddenly feels.

“You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?” he asks. 

She avoids the obvious answer, not inclined to encourage him, though the words come close to falling off her tongue. _Control yourself_ , the rational voice in her head scolds.

“Yep.”

“Fine,” Dipper spits, with all the venom of a chastised toddler, “Hand over the Journal, Northwest.” 

He throws out his hand and makes a ‘come here’ gesture. The tunnel is narrow enough for her to reach out and bat his hand away. His skin is warm, and she swallows hard.

"Come over here and make me, Pines," Pacifica retorts, sounding just as petulant. 

Her stomach lurches as a spark of delight seems to dance across his face, recognizing the opening she’d left. Nothing was _ever_ innocent banter with him.

"Is that an invitation?" 

"No, you self-centered ass, it was a challenge," she says, raising her chin and setting her jaw. 

"Because it sure sounded like an invitation to me."

In the time since they’d made their way back to the cave’s entrance, the sky had darkened, either from deepening storm clouds or the distant, hidden setting of the sun. Dipper’s features are mostly masked by shadows now, but she can still see the way he leers at her. He leans forward, almost on his knees. Pacifica's heart pounds up into her ears. 

"Try it and you'll find out just how inviting I am," she says. Her mouth feels dry, face warm, and Dipper is moving closer with every breath.

"I hope so."

Dipper, knees planted in the dirt, stops less than half a foot from her. Against the white noise of the rain she can hear his ragged breath; in the low light of the cave, his dilated eyes look deep, black. She bites her bottom lip, and he mirrors the motion.

Pacifica inhales shakily, and her eyes flutter closed. 

"Don't get used to this, Dipper," she says. She opens her eyes and stares at him, resolute.

"Get used to what?" he asks, but his lips tip up, the know-it-all.

"Getting what you want."

Pacifica pulls him to her by the collar, relishing for a split second the disgruntled noise he makes as he buries his hands in the ground to keep himself from tipping over. In the next moment, though, she finds herself too occupied by the soft scrape of his lips against hers. It lasts less than a heartbeat - the delicate tension between them - before they forcefully collide, Pacifica wrapping her arms around his neck, Dipper's hands rising to her shoulders, steadying himself. 

His mouth seems to melt into hers, tongue finding its way past her teeth in slow sweeps. She sucks gently, and Dipper moans through their kiss, the needy sound slipping straight down her spine until they part for air. A brief breath and then they find their way back together again. He traps her bottom lip between his teeth and she loses all track of time.

They kiss until her lips feel raw, until she realizes he's practically in her lap, until she pulls at his hips and the space between them disappears. Only then does Dipper pry his mouth from hers. Pacifica lets out a huff of protest and reaches up to tug him back by his mussed brown hair. He follows her insistent touch with ease, letting her guide his lips to her throat. 

Dipper does not disappoint, tongue tracing along her collarbone and back up her neck. Her soft gasp is rewarded with another kiss: light, restrained.

"We should stop," he breathes into her ear.

Pacifica blinks, dazed. 

"This mud and...whatever is at the bottom of this cave... Has probably wrecked my pants," Dipper continues, heaving breaths undermining the seriousness of his words.

"Yeah," she manages, mind reeling from the sudden about face. There are approximately one thousand things she wants to say, starting with 'It's not like you to quit while you're ahead' and ending with 'I hate you but I think I might love you,' but instead, Pacifica takes a slow, deep breath and closes her eyes. Dipper shifts, the absence of his weight filled suddenly by cold air. She shivers. 

When Pacifica opens her eyes, she's met with Dipper's hand open before her, offering. She takes it, and he gently helps her up and brushes the dirt and twigs from her clothing. His touch is warm, but chaste and brief, and she takes that as a sign not to lean into it. 

The rain has settled into a fine drizzle. The forest is cool and still, suspended in the faded light of dusk. No monsters sulk in forgotten hollows, no ghosts wend their way through low branches: they are alone as they emerge from the cave.

For the first few minutes, Dipper leads the way in silence. His narrow shoulders are taut and tense, his breathing slow and deliberate as they trek through the underbrush. Pacifica chews at her lower lip - still sensitive - and follows. Despite the chill of the air, her insides still churn, heated; every tree they pass seems a promising point to once again grab him by the collar, push him against the trunk, and rejoin their bodies. From the way Dipper’s left hand clenches and unclenches as they walk, she doesn’t think he would resist.

Pacifica speeds up and wraps her fingers around his. Dipper startles and almost pulls away, looking down at her with wide eyes. His brows furrow and his mouth follows in a frown; on his face she reads concerned, confused, conflicted. 

“Tell me,” she says, tightening her grip on his hand.

He runs his free hand through his hair. The motion highlights the uncanny speckling across his forehead, a reminder that he is something unusual, unpredictable.

“I am not used to… caring about something… enough to savor it,” Dipper finally says, “And I’m not used to wanting something - someone - so much that I’m prepared to wait. Until it’s right. ‘Right’ and I aren’t regular acquaintances. Of all unfamiliar virtues, patience seems most alien, and for us to suddenly be close confidants-”

“I get it,” Pacifica says, interrupting his musings. She rolls her eyes and tugs him to a halt. 

Dipper looks down at her and waits. 

“No offense, but this is,” she says, gesturing between the two of them, “Was, up until about a month ago, something I never saw happening. 13-year-old Pacifica is still gagging about it in the background. We’ve been fighting for four years, and well, old habits die hard, so don’t expect that to change anytime soon. But we’ve also spent four years getting to know each other, and… I’m okay with taking another four years to get to know you even better. To get to know you… differently.”

Pacifica tips up onto her toes and leaves a soft kiss on his lips. Shared smiles line their faces when she comes back down. 

“We should get moving,” she says, turning in the direction of home, “There’s no way they haven’t noticed I’m gone.”

Dipper nods, and they trek, hand in hand, through the woods. 

It’s not until they are just at the limits of the forest and the Shack is in sight that Dipper stops. She looks up at him, questioning. His face is squeezed into something akin to displeasure.

“I don’t think I want to wait four years until we…”

He pulls her to him and lays a heated kiss on her lips. His hands gravitate immediately to her lower back, and start sinking lower. With a laugh, she pulls away, smacks him on the shoulder, and hopes the dark covers her blush.

“Gross, Pines, at least take me on a date first!”

“I’ve been taking you on dates for the last four years!” he exclaims, but he laughs nonetheless. 

“Whatever,” she says, letting go of his hand and looking to the Shack, “I’ll see you when you figure out the proper way to treat a lady.”

“I’ll find a reason to drop by the Shack tomorrow,” Dipper says, grinning, “It’s easier than waiting for you to figure out how to be a lady.”

She turns and starts walking towards the lights of the Shack. Over her shoulder she sends him off with her middle finger and a call of, “You’re the worst!”

“I know,” he calls back.

With a small smile and a flutter in her chest, Pacifica heads home.


End file.
